Part two of The Only Friend I Have verse. Recommended to read Turn Your Shattered Dreams Into Rhapsodies first but not strictly necessarily.
I'm literally so emo about Miss Quill and how lonely she is, so I had to write this.
Sleep never comes easy for Miss Quill. But tonight it alludes her completely, something pressing in on her chest as heavy as a boulder. She stares at the ceiling until she thinks she's going to go out of her mind.
Finally she sits up and swings her legs out of bed. She doesn't want to go downstairs, because the dust from the Lan Kin is still there and it's the last thing she wants to think about. It might have disgraced her sister's memory by making her nice but there had still been a moment or two when it had felt like she was talking to Orla again, regardless of their human appearances.
Perhaps before tonight she had known that she's so lonely it makes her nauseous. But it would be a whisper of a thought, immediately shut out. Tonight has stripped away the repression and it's all she can think about to the point of her hating herself for how weak she's being.
She can physically feel it in her gut. That ache. For someone, for something beyond a demand for help from teenagers who don't even thank her.
Matron's rules, no mercy...
...if I saw you again I'd rip your heart out with my bare hands and make you watch - good times.
Her relationship with her sisters was always complicated, but she misses them more than the idiotic Rhodian prince could ever understand. His people, for all their supposed superiority, had struggled when it came actually feeling anything real for each other.
Quill are ruthless, but honest in their emotions. Or at least, they were. Now that she's the last, and having to keep everything locked inside her - because she's surrounded by humans and her Rhodian master, and she would rather have her tongue cut out than show them any ounce of weakness or give them any insight into what she's feeling.
What have they done to deserve that kind of intimacy? Why should she have any reason to think they care one bit for her? She's their bitch of a teacher who makes it clear she barely tolerates them. Who they don't give any more attention than they need to.
And yet, watching them together tonight, hugging and gathering in that circle as they celebrated their victory…
For just a few moments, she had felt the urge to go to them. To fill the gap in their circle.
Just thinking about it makes her want to be sick, just as much now as it had then. No, even more so now, because she's still thinking about it.
She's lonely. As pathetic as it is, it's as simple as that. But these humans and now Charlie with their hugging and affection are disgusting. They don't understand her. They don't understand how her people think or act.
They don't understand what she needs. But there's one person who does.
Reluctantly, Quill reaches for her mobile phone. There are two numbers in there; Charlie had been in there from the start, and Missy had added herself before leaving with a promise to come back soon.
Not soon enough, Quill thinks, loathing herself for the way she's actually wishing Missy were with her. Having any kind of longing for the petticoated pest is embarrassing enough in itself but the feeling grows with every passing second until she's choking on it.
Rigidly, she puts the phone back on the bedside table. It's not like it can do her any good. Even if she were to accept that she actually wants Missy's company, there's no way she'd be able to say so. The idea of saying anything like I miss you, or I'm lonely, or I want to see you is so ludicrous that she outright snorts just at the thought.
It's self-deprecating and exasperated and yet the humour of it lasts all of a single second before she's staring at the door and wishing the maddening brunette could just burst through it and just be here already without her having to be the one to do anything about it.
Her arms fold around herself, in a show of vulnerability she would not allow if she weren't alone. Her fingers trace across the skin of the opposite shoulder, absently.
Her skin is so smooth now. It's unsettling, it's wonderful, it's wrong - it's different. Sometimes she secretly loves it and times like this it's just a reminder of how her entire life has turned upside and that she is a pathetic, shackled shell of her former self.
Missy's fingertips sliding across her torso, down her legs, their skin sliding against each other in a way not possible before, not having to be careful at all with Missy anymore because they match now and can't accidentally hurt each other.
Miss Quill looks back to the phone. It sits there, taunting her, mocking her complete inability to express her emotions to anyone even when doing so is the key to the only thing that might help her sanity.
After a good minute of staring at it, she takes it into her hand again and taps on Missy's name to get into the empty conversation box.
She thinks about what she wants. Not just Missy herself but what she wants from Missy, what she needs, and a tolerable way of reaching out to Missy comes to her. She slowly types out the message.
Andy: If you come to the house with even just a vague intent to harm to Charlie, we can have a proper fight and I can kick your arse. Interested?
Once it sends, the reply comes within twenty seconds.
Missy: Challenge accepted.
Her heart pounds in her chest as she reads the message, but already she can feel the heaviness starting to dissipate. She does a quick self-evaluation to see if she's ready for a fight and rolls the bottom of her silk pyjama pants up before getting to her feet and stretching her limbs.
As an afterthought, she sends a text to Charlie to let him know that any noises he hears coming from downstairs are no cause for alarm and to not come down under any circumstances. It's likely they're going to wake the boys up and she would really rather not be interrupted.
Sure enough, Missy materialises with the flash of the vortex manipulator on her wrist. She's dressed in dark trousers and a waistcoat over a pale blouse. It's a good look and Miss Quill makes a note to try it out herself some time.
She smiles at Quill. "So, if I win, I can kill the annoying prince? That enough for you?"
It's more than enough, just having someone like Missy inside the house is enough of a threat to Charlie to give her the room to get violent. But as per usual, Missy is going that bit further and it makes Quill smile.
"That'll work. And if I win?"
Missy lifts an eyebrow. "Let's get to that when we come to it, dear."
Whether or not Missy would actually carry out her threat if she were to win is impossible to know, and it means that adrenaline starts coursing through Quill's body. If Charlie dies, so does she. As soon as they begin, she's officially fighting for her life.
It's about damn time. She's been waiting for a fair fight that isn't against a horde of Shadowkin or a bizarre alien dragon.
They stand there for a few moments, the tension thick between them. Then Quill throws the first punch.
It hits home, but she's almost certain Missy never had any other intention because her friend just grins and makes a show of shifting her weight from one foot to the other several times.
The roundhouse kick she deals Quill hits her in the side and she half doubles over but is quick to right herself.
After that it gets messy. Quill is big on punching and kicking while Missy has little care for the former and more than anything else likes to play dirty. She digs her nails into Quill's skin until she breaks it, drives her knee into her abdomen.
It's a fairly good effort on her part all things considered. But she's not a warrior in the same way that Quill is. Missy fights with her mind, her brilliance. Quill fights with her fists.
The small red nail marks in her skin or the dull ache in her gut aren't nearly enough to hinder her and she knocks Missy to the ground with one solid kick. Sitting on her and dealing blow after blow is therapeutic in a way nothing else could be. She hears Missy's nose break with a satisfying crack and the Time Lady's blood wets her knuckles.
Missy is laughing, licking up the blood with a sweep of her tongue that momentarily distracts Quill. She should know better, of course, because she might be the better fighter but she's fighting the Queen of Evil herself.
She's the one on her back in less than a second and there's a knife at her throat. The cold tip pricks against her skin.
"Ooh, look at that," Missy says, feigning surprise.
"That's cheating, I can't use weapons," Quill snaps, and Missy's eyebrows lift.
"And you're, what, surprised I'm not playing fair?" She asks with a snort. "I'm evil, if you've forgotten that tiny little detail."
Quill glares. "Not surprised, annoyed."
Missy doesn't respond, instead lowering her head to wipe the blood still under her nose on Quill's silk camisole. Quill is torn between irritation at her ruined clothing and reluctant amusement when she realises that it's an uncannily feline movement.
The knife is pressing just a bit too hard against her throat for Quill to risk trying to get out of their current position by sheer force. When Missy lifts her head to look at her again, the blood mostly gone from her face but a faint stain still on her lip, there is a moment of stillness.
"This isn't a bad look for you, actually," Missy says conversationally, lightly dragging the knife across Quill's skin and up to rest against her lips.
It isn't until a sort of victory flashes through Missy's eyes that Quill realises that her breath has hitched, but out of arousal rather than fear. There's something so...beautiful...about knives. Their simplicity, how a single movement can cause the life to spill from a person.
And now she can't handle them without dying instantly. But this one is touching her and the forbidden nature of it all makes her skin tingle all over.
Missy smiles, softly, before bring the knife back down and making a tiny cut just underneath Quill's collarbone. Then she tosses the knife across the room and leans over her to lick over the wound.
Quill wastes no time in taking advantage of them being back to hand to hand. She grips Missy's arms and tries to flip them back over but Missy resists with surprising strength.
They wrestle for a good half minute, tumbling until they collide with the foot of bed. Quill ends up on top and she closes her hand around Missy's throat, squeezing hard and making her gasp. The Time Lady's blue eyes are bright, and Quill loosens her grip to allow her to breathe a little while still making it difficult.
"You enjoy this too much," Quill tells her, and it is supposed to sound amused, but she's too affected by how affected Missy is for it to really work.
"Mmmm," Missy purrs, wriggling underneath her suggestively because Quill has her otherwise pinned. When she speaks again, it's raspy with the lack of oxygen. "You know, this is good fun, but for future reference, you're allowed to just ask if I want to hang out. Or have sex. Or do whatever."
"Why would I want to do that if violence isn't also involved?" Quill asks, but a little too quickly. This kind of fighting is her species' idea of companionship, but they aren't strangers to other expressions of it either. And Missy is certainly familiar with Time Lord and human displays of affection.
Missy just gives her a knowing look. "Oh, I don't know, dear. I love a good romp, me."
"Good, then shut up," Quill tells her, leaning down to kiss her hard. Her tongue pushes past her lips and Missy moans with contentment even as she fights against Quill's unbreakable grip that is keeping her and her hands pinned to the wooden floor.
Finally she lets go of one of Missy's wrists so that she can rip open the waistcoat and blouse (she's strong enough that the fabric and buttons tear with a single yank from one hand). This time it's not a corset underneath but a normal bra - dark purple and lacy but not impractically so.
Quill kisses urgently down Missy's neck to bite the soft curves of the tops of Missy's breasts. The bra is in the way and unhooking it would be too much work so she breaks it with another hard pull. Missy glares.
"Don't give me that look," Quill mutters, kissing her before she can reply and letting her free hand roughly grope the skin she's exposed.
It feels so good to be in control. To, at least briefly, be the one calling the shots and not be at a prince's beck and call.
Not to mention, she's in control of the Master. The Mistress. Whatever.
Name aside, the brunette is doing all she can to keep the dynamic between them even, taking control of the kiss and nipping at her lips while her hand fists in Quill's stained camisole. Quill chuckles and grabs her wrist again, pinning her back down and just taking in the sight of Missy underneath her with the tattered remains of her clothes hanging off her torso.
A feral grin curls Quill's lips and bares her teeth.
"Was wrecking my clothes really necessary?" Missy asks flatly, severely unimpressed.
She shrugs. "Anything else would have taken too long." Quill lets her hand slide down to the waistband of Missy's trousers, popping the button open and sliding underneath. Just as her fingers find home, Quill bends down to kiss Missy, relishing how the Time Lady fights her for control of the kiss still even while her hips buck against her hand.
Quill is merciless and she knows Missy would have it no other way, holding her down and fucking her until the older woman is whimpering and making all those obscene noises that are so much more arousing than they should be.
Reducing one of the most feared beings in the universe to a panting, shuddering mess is probably the most satisfying thing Quill's done since arriving on Earth. Not that their last night together wasn't good, but tonight it's more urgent. Last time was by their standards an easy, casual catch up.
This is what Quill really needs. A fight, and then this. Hard, unrelenting.
She pulls off her camisole and lets Missy tug the pyjama bottoms down, crawling into the Time Lady's lap once Missy's trousers are properly gone. Finally, they're skin and skin and it's wonderful.
Missy's fingers slide into her while her other hand twists in her blonde hair, and Quill lets out a low groan because it feels so damned good and fuck she's needed this.
"That's right, you let me make you feel good," Missy murmurs, "So good. You deserve it. Putting up with these baby monkeys all day, you deserve anything you want enough to take."
It takes a moment for Quill to remember that Time Lords are telepathic, and that their foreheads being pressed together means Missy is receptive to her thoughts. It should bother her, but for some reason doesn't.
"Anything I want enough to take? What, like you?" She asks wryly, making her chuckle. They're kissing again after that, and it shouldn't be enough because it's a bit too gentle, but Quill can't find it in her to break it off or make it more forceful.
There's something wonderful about it. About this tiny pocket of time where there's no teenagers and no Shadowkin and no aching loneliness, just Missy's fingers curling and her mouth on hers, kissing and kissing and kissing like they could never have any reason to stop.
Much later, she'll realise just how intimate it is, their position, the way they're touching and acting. But in this moment she doesn't notice or care because she needs it more than she needs air.
When the pleasure builds and she's close to release, their lips break apart and Quill buries her face in Missy's neck as her legs start shaking and the wave washes over her. She clutches Missy and breathes in the scent of her skin, floral perfume and sweat.
Missy murmurs words that sound like Gallifreyan, and the hand that's in her hair strokes it gently. For a few moments it's soothing until Quill's self-awareness returns.
"What are you doing?" She asks with disgust, flinching out of Missy's hold and scrambling back until her bare skin hits the floor.
Missy looks at her with vague amusement as she leans back against the bed and sucks her fingers clean one by one. "Your people really weren't ones for embraces, were you?"
"Now you sound like the humans," Quill says, making a face.
"Not all of their ideas are terrible, you know," Missy replies, "They created coffee, and petticoats, and tanks. And, I don't know, other things."
To be yanked from a state of mind so blissful and thrown back into irritation and that suffocating feeling of people just not understanding is like whiplash that leaves Quill feeling shaken.
She wants Missy gone. She wants her out of her bedroom before she can get her fingers into the cracks in her composure and force her way in like she does so many other things.
As she meets her eyes again, too blue and too intelligent and too knowing, she thinks it might be too late.
Being on the floor and stark naked doesn't help the sickening vulnerability problem and so she gets to her feet, grabbing her discarded pyjamas and pulling them back on. Missy meanwhile gets up and crosses to her drawers, going through them without any regard for Quill's protest.
She selects a dress shirt and pulls it on, not bothering with the top few buttons.
"By all means, take whatever you like," Quill says sarcastically. It's mostly a defense mechanism against something primal in her that likes seeing Missy in her shirt far too much. Paired with the up-do that has been entirely ruined by their activities, it's a delightful sight.
Which is irritating under the circumstances.
"I want you gone," Quill tells her, and Missy arches an eyebrow.
"No, you don't," she replies without a moment's hesitation. Quill stares at her for a second before putting her hands on her hips defiantly.
"Yes, I do."
"No, you don't."
"Yes, I do."
"No, you don't."
"I will not partake in this child's game," Quill snarls, "I'm telling you to leave."
"Actually, you're saying that you want me to leave, which isn't actually the same thing at all now is it?" Missy corrects. "Now, why don't we sit down, and you can tell me what happened."
Quill blinks. "What makes you think anything's happened? I wanted to hit someone, so I texted you. What else is there to know?"
Missy laughs at her. "Andy dear, that text couldn't have been a more obvious plea for company if you'd actually said so."
"I was asking you to come here and exist as a threat to my slave master so that I could punch the living daylights out of you, and you think that's a plea for companionship?"
"Well, you're a Quill, what were else were you going to say? Oh, Missy, I'm so lonely," she mimics as she sits on the edge of the bed, "As if, sister." The use of the word makes Quill flinch. Missy looks at her with interest.
"Ooooh. Not seen that before. That's a start. So, something to do with one of your sisters, then?"
"Orla," Quill mutters, hating herself for giving up even that information. But she is just so tired. Tired of being away from home, exhausted from knowing she can never go back. Tired of the human teenagers and everything they do, exhausted by the fact that they barely acknowledge her existence when she keeps saving their necks.
She sits down next to Missy and it feels like half a defeat in itself.
"Oh, the one who kept trying to kill you," Missy says, nodding. "What happened?"
"Nothing of consequence," Quill says, because that thing had never been her sister, "An alien came, we defeated it, the children celebrated and I came home."
"And?"
"And that's it."
"Nuh uh. Something made you text me. I'm not leaving until you say what."
"Oh, bite me," Quill snaps, and it's probably the wrong choice of words given their sexual tendencies but the point stands, "We might be friends, Missy, but that doesn't mean I'm going to get all sappy and talk about my feelings, I'm not like them, I'm not weak-"
"Emotional and weak aren't synonyms, you know," Missy says, examining her nails, "I'm the Queen of Evil, and I still have feelings. You've got all that anger in you, all that anger fueling you, making you strong-"
"This isn't about my anger and you know that all too well!" Quill shouts, making her smirk.
"Exactly. So what is it about?"
Quill feels waspish, wants to take Missy by the neck and throttle her just as much as she wants to return to that moment on the floor where Missy was stroking her hair.
"What do you want me to say?" All her emotions rise up in her at once, a cocktail too heady for her to keep at bay. "That there's no one else on this wretched planet who remotely knows understands how I see the world or shows any interest in finding out? That you're the only person who gives me a single second of their time that they don't have to? That I'm completely alone in the universe?!"
Her eyes feel oddly damp. It's alarming until she realises it's what she's seen many humans do since her arrival. Crying. She's crying, albeit just a little. How disgusting.
She's staring at Missy and breathing heavily, the pain in chest replaced by a kind of panic. The Time Lady's gaze is even and unfathomable as she eyes her.
"Not completely alone," she says after a few seconds, putting a hand on Quill's shoulder and making her flinch. She stares at it and wonders what she's doing until another glance at Missy's face makes her realise that this is physical comfort.
"I mean, you're going to have to deal with being mostly alone," Missy continues, withdrawing the hand, "But I'll be around. Sometimes."
Quill is horrified to realise she wants that hand back. On her shoulder, in her hair, just somewhere that means she'll be connected to another living being who actually gives a shit about her general existence.
She reaches out, with a trembling hand, to tuck some of Missy's hair behind her hair the way the other woman has done to her a couple of times. Her first instinct is that it's wrong but she forces herself to do it anyway. Missy is oddly quiet, just watching the movement and her, with a stillness that breeds something intense and palpable between them.
"Oh, fuck it," Quill mutters, before using the hand to take a hold of Missy's face and kiss her firmly. It's like those minutes when she had been in her lap, in all the ways it shouldn't be. They're only kissing and yet they can't stop, content to just drink each other in over and over.
They eventually fall back, and Missy rolls on top of her and for once Quill doesn't fight it. They keep kissing, hands seeking out necks and hair and waists instead of all the places underneath their clothing. For the first time, it isn't a battle.
"Stay," Quill says. Don't leave, she means. She doesn't have to add like all the others have.
Missy gives her an almost apologetic smile. "Til the sun's up," she promises. "Then I have places to be, stuff to steal, people to kill. You know how it is."
It makes the weight in Quill's chest lighten again to know they have a few more hours, and the implications of that are too much to deal with at the moment. So she does the only thing she can think of.
She deepens their kiss and wraps her legs around Missy's hips to pull their lower bodies flush, her nails digging into pale skin and eliciting an amused chuckle from her friend.
"Eager," Missy murmurs, but she's immediately got her lips at Quill's throat and bites down until it's deliciously painful.
A good hour and a half later, when they get under the covers to get some sleep, Missy does her usual trick of cuddling into Quill. Instead of pushing her away or wriggling out of it like she always has in the past, Quill tentatively wraps an arm around her shoulders and allows the Time Lady to tuck her head under her chin. She shuts her eyes and can feel Missy's breathing in parallel to her own.
It's….comforting. As much as the word in itself makes her want to vomit.
She tightens her grip slightly, holding Missy to her that little bit tighter, and Missy hums and snuggles into her further. There's something in Quill's chest again, not a heaviness but just a strangeness. It's different and she has no idea what it means but doesn't think she wants to find out.
All the same, maybe cuddling has its merits. She'll just never be admitting that to anyone so long as she lives.
This ship is going to be the absolute death of me. Oops. Thanks for reading, please let me know what you thought!